Winds Of Change
by Nomadd
Summary: When Alva, a young merchants daughter from Gascony, attains the chance to prove herself and rid her life of its boredom, there was not a seconds hesitation in her answer. But when time is of the essence and things go from bad to worse, she soon realises that the stories of love that she read as a child aren't anything close to the truth... Set after Sleight Of Hand, OC/Aramis


An impatient knock on Alva's door woke her rather rudely one early morning.

"ALVA, WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT LOCKING YOUR DOOR!"

The young woman groaned, pulling the pillow slowly off her head so she could speak. "That I must only do it in an emergency."

"AND IS THIS AN EMERGENCY?"

"That really depends." She yawned, opening her eyes slowly. "What do you require?"

"I REQUIRE YOU TO OPEN THIS DOOR!"

"My apologies, but that really doesn't seem like an emergency, father. Therefore I can hardly justify touching the lock." Alva sluggishly crawled over to the edge of her bed as the door was hit violently again.

"I MEAN IT!"

Alva swung her legs over the side of the bed and calmly padded over to the door. "I'm sure you do, father."

"THEN WILL YOU PLEASE-"

Quietly, Alva turned the lock and pulled the door open so her face was peeking through a small gap. She smiled sardonically up at the discontented face of her father. "You know, if you keep shouting you'll wake the whole of Gascony up."

"They are calling a council meeting this morning."

Alva nodded slowly, stifling a yawn as she did. "Well, that sounds very important, father. But what must it have to do with me?"

"I need you to accompany me."

"I-"

"This is not a choice, Al. You come, or I revoke your privileges."

Alva glared at him silently, her jaw tensing.

_It's Alva._

She thought in her head.

_Not Al, or Va or any other name for that matter. I was born Alva so I am to be called Alva._

"You know..." She thought aloud, the glare she had fixed on his face unyielding. "Flattery will get you much further than empty threats with a woman."

"Well then, I'll keep that in mind the next time I see a woman."

"I assume you won't need me to come if I'm not a woman then?" Alva retaliated, beginning to close the door in her fathers face.

Harland let out an impatient grunt, using his booted foot to wedge the entrance open before she could complete her intended action. "Alva, this is not the time or the place to be-"

"Well, it is the place..." She murmured, unrelenting in her attempts to both agitate and perplex her father.

"TO BE TALKING BACK AT ME. NOW GET DRESSED."

Alva nodded, forcing a fake smile onto her young face, "fine."

Her father smiled in victory.

Alva matched the expression with her own scheming one, taking the finality of their conversation as a perfect opportunity to stomp on his obstructing foot and slam the door shut. Harland yelped in pain as Alva turned the key in the lock, its familiar click indicating that she was safe once again.

Her father banged what Alva assumed to be either his fist or foot into the door, swearing loudly as he did. "GET READY NOW, YOU INSUFFERABLE WOMAN!"

Alva set her hard glare on the wood of the door, listening for the sound of her father's quieting footsteps to disappear altogether. After a moment of silence, she twisted away from the door, letting out a deflated sigh.

"ALVA!" Lord Harland yelled from a fair distance away.

"YES FATHER, I'M COMING!" Alva called back, heading towards her washbasin.

She looked over at the bookcase in the corner of her room, stacked neatly with her favourite works of literature. The leather bound stories and scrolls of paper were familiar and inviting to the young woman. Many entailed stories of heroic soldiers and knights, finding themselves in ridiculous situations, escaping and winning both the quest as well as the heart of a lover. Alva knew it was a ridiculous dream, but one day she hoped to be a hero, just like the ones she'd read about.

The young woman allowed her mind to wander for a moment longer before remembering what she was supposed to be doing. Quickly, and a little half-heartedly, she splashed her face with the freezing water, attempting to pull curling rags from her long blonde hair at the same time.

"HURRY UP!" Harland called again, making his daughter jump skittishly.

She wiped her face dry and turned towards her wardrobe. "Yes, ok. Clothes next." She told herself, gathering together a floor length navy skirt, a deep purple shirt and a leather corset. She dressed in them as quickly as she could, almost managing to put her top on the wrong way round and inside out in her rush.

A timid knock caught Alva's attention as she fixed a belt around her waist. "Yes?"

"Father wishes to go." a voice to match the knock replied.

Alva unlocked her door and opened it to reveal her younger sister standing on the other side of it, fidgeting shyly with her auburn hair.

"I'm almost ready Grace, come in if you wish."

The small girls face lit up at the opportunity, skipping straight over to the bed. She clambered up onto the sheets daintily as she could, her dress ruffling around her as she did.

"I wish I could attend! I want to find a husband." Grace blushed, continuing to fiddle with her hair. "He shall be tall and-"

"Grace, you are six, you are not getting married." Alva laughed, pulling on her knee length, lace up boots.

"Well then, I wish to be old. Maybe even as old as you!"

Alva rose her eyebrows at that comment. "Hey now, I'm not-"

"You can have a husband and I want to be that old! He will love you and protect you and pick you flowers."

Alva shook her head, laughing to herself half-heartedly. "If I'm honest, I'd rather he didn't protect me and instead bought me weapons so I could do it myself."

"Father says you must stop fighting if you are ever to go somewhere without a bruise on your face and impress a man."

"You know what else father says?" Alva stood up, putting her hands on her hips.

"What?"

"That bluebells are the prettiest flowers ever to have grown."

Grace giggle, shaking her head. "That's not true, everyone knows its roses!"

"Exactly!" Alva nodded her head as she walked over to her sister on the bed. "You have a different opinion to father, do you not?"

"Of course!" Grace stood up on the bed, jumping up and down slightly on the spot. "But roses are better."

"Just like men have different opinions about women. If a man dislikes the fact I may beat him in a fight, or have bruises on my body, or walk around in anything but a dress, then he is not for me." Alva reached behind her bed and pulled out a small dagger.

Grace make an 'ohh' sound in understanding. "So you are someone's favourite flower, but someone else will hate you?"

Alva nodded as she slipped the dagger into the top of her left boot. "Yes, exactly!"

"But you are my favourite, and fathers..." Grace frowned.

"Well, I wouldn't say I'm father's favourite…"

"So, if I like roses and he likes bluebells, then one of us must hate you." Grace began to sniff, her lip wobbling.

"Oh no, I didn't mean-"

"Does father hate you if I love you?" Grace demanded, beginning to sob loudly as Alva attempted to calm her down.

"No, of course he likes me!"

_Tolerates me. _

Alva corrected in her head.

"But he loves bluebells and I, roses."

"ALVA!" Lord Harland called.

"ONE MOMENT FATHER!" Alva called back as Grace sunk down onto the bed with tears streaming down her face. "Grace, shh!"

"NO, NOW!" Harland, who was getting far more frustrated with each moment he was kept waiting, began towards his daughter's room, Grace's crying getting louder by the second. Alva tensed her shoulders in anticipation and, in one final attempt to shut her sister up, threw a pillow towards her head as their father stormed into the room.

"What in the world did you do?" He demanded at his oldest child as Grace wailed louder and pounded the newly acquired pillow with her small hands.

Grace clambered off the bed, tears and snot covering her face. "You hate Alva!"

Alva placed her head in her hand. "I did not say that, Grace!"

Grace stomped her foot, shaking her head. "You said father loved bluebells and I love roses and someone can only love one flower!"

"What is she talking about?" Harland's eyes flicked between his two children.

"It was an analogy!" Alva snapped, frustrated and still extremely sluggish from sleep.

"Well, it doesn't seem to be a very good one."

"Actually, it was one of my best." Alva defended indignantly. "But the fruitful description of intercourse is still my favourite." Harland hit her across the back of her head in one fluid movement. "OW!"

"Don't say that in front of her."

"Why? It's not as if she can hear us, she's crying too loudly. Now, are we going?"

Grace began to stomp her feet childishly and cry louder, gaining back the attention of her sister and father. "You cannot hate Alva!"

Harland's hand's tensed into tight fists as he listened to his daughter's screaming pitch increase. "How do I make her stop?" He demanded.

Alva shrugged, revelling in the superiority she held for a short moment.

"Alva, I mean it!"

She sighed in exasperation, Grace's screaming becoming rather irritating. "Just tell her you love roses."

"I- wait, what?"

Alva gestured to her sister, with a sweetly sarcastic smile on her face. "She's all yours..."

"You are insufferable."

"I know, you tell me often." Alva acknowledged, walking out the room and away from the wailing noise of Grace as she did.

* * *

Once Harland had successfully sorted his six year olds misunderstand out, both himself and Alva began their walk to the council building. The journey to their destination was just as short as anticipated, taking them past the early morning market and through the town centre.

When the pair finally reached the intended destination, Harland turned to the young woman following him, gripping her shoulders firmly.

"Do you remember what to do?" He shook her lightly.

She nodded curtly. "Yes father, stay silent and stay unnoticed."

Harland glared at her, Alva matching the stare with one of her own, trademark expressions of irritation. "Don't embarrass me."

"Now, why would I do that?" She muttered as they entered the building directly to their left in the wide cobbled street.

Alva stayed behind her father silently, her eyes keeping constant contact with the heels of his boots. They walked the full length of a dark corridor, ascended a steep set of stairs and, with little enthusiasm from Alva, entered the overcrowded council room through a large door.

"Lord Harland!" A man's voice greeted Alva's father. "And is that...well I never! Mademoiselle Harland!"

"Alva." Alva snapped, looking up for the first time to see roughly forty faces staring at her. The room fell silent and her cheeks turned a deep shade of red. "It's Alva, Monsieur."

"My greatest apologies. Alva is a little tired this morning, you must excuse her behaviour." Harland directed his words at the entirety of the room before grabbing his daughter by the arm again and pushing her towards a small empty space for them to both inhabit.

"Well, now that we are all present..." The same voice spoke again, capturing the attention of every person in the room, "...we shant need to waste a moment longer before explaining why the council has been called together on such short notice."

Alva rolled her eyes, already bored. She looked down, wiggling her feet and watching the leather move with her toes. There was _nothing _worse than being cooped up in a stuffy room when the forest lay only a few miles from Lupiac and her horse waited for her in the nearby stables.

"As you are all aware, we made a decision to send Monsieur Alexandre D'Artagnan and his son to Paris two months ago. They went to petition the king on behalf of Gascony, and the taxes which are plaguing the area with death, disease and crop failure."

Alva's eyes snapped up at the sound of D'Artagnan's name; she had known him since childhood. They were practically brother and sister. He had promised the day he left, that when he returned he would bring her a gift and they would go riding together, just as they used to.

"After receiving no word for two months now, we have, with great sadness, decided to assume the worst."

Alva froze, her mind racing.

_The worst?_

She thought, panicked by the words.

_How can someone assume the worst without even considering the best? Why had there not been a council session to discuss that._

"No!" An outraged female voice called, catching Alva's wandering attention. "That is my son and husband you are referring to. They are good men and excellent fighters! You cannot claim they are dead without searching, I beg you."

"With all due respect, Mademoiselle, I regret to inform you that our decision has already been made."

"Then unmake it. There must be someone here willing to find my family! I would go myself if I were younger and stronger." Distress was noticeable in the woman's words as she moved into the middle of the room, determined to make herself heard.

"I highly doubt there is a single person here willing to risk their life for this matter."

Alva glared at the man, who, from what she could gather, had far more control over this democracy than he would care to disclose.

"There must be one!" D'Artagnan's mother pleaded, looking at the men to her left and then to her right. "You are about to announce my family dead without a single thought of the sorrow and despair it will bring to me."

"Madam, I am terribly sorry. If we were in a stronger position, every person here would happily comply with your request. But, I admit with a heavy heart, that we are not. Therefore-"

"There is not a single drop of sorrow in your words, Monsieur." Alva blurted out, unaware of her doings until they were already done.

"Alva!" Harland snapped, grabbing her hand roughly.

Alva turned her head to glare at him, yanking her fingers free as she did. "I'm sorry, but I remain unaware of how a man with such a heavy heart is able to brush off the disappearance of two men without so much as second thought."

"Believe me child, there was much debate about what our next action was to be."

"Do_ not_ call me a child, you arrogant, selfish man." Alva stormed over to stand next to D'Artagnan's mother, pointing her finger menacingly at him.

"ALVA, STOP!" Harland demanded, walking towards his daughter in an attempt to intimidate her into silence.

Alva sidestepped away from the approaching threat, instead storming towards the short, fat man who had been addressing her. "If you had given this as much thought as you claim, then why is this the first time Alexandre's wife is to hear of your decision?"

"I refuse to grace such spiteful accusations with an answer."

Alva smiled challengingly and turned away to address the rest of the room. "Why, if you have given this so much thought, do you intend to send another petition in the same direction as the first, with no idea whether it will even make it to Paris? If I am sure of one thing, it is that there are plenty of people in France willing to kill without a single reason or word of honour. Yet, even with this problem acknowledged, you do not see it wise to make sure none are out to stop Gascony's petition reaching its destination?"

The fat man grabbed Alva's arm and pulled her towards him. "Be quiet woman, or I will have to ban both you and your father from council."

Alva kept the spiteful expression she had previously been wearing, on her face. "Oh, by all means, please go ahead. I do not desire to be here."

"Why, you insolent, good for nothing-"

"Madame, am I right in assuming that you only wish for one selfless individual to undertake the journey you are proposing?" Alva cut the man addressing her off, instead aiming her words at D'Artagnan's mother.

"Y-yes, it is."

Alva nodded, pulling her arm away from the firm grip it was being held in. She turned to face the rest of the council once again, her eyes moving slowly around the room once. "Then I happily give myself up for the cause."

"I _beg_ your pardon?" The man behind Alva choked on his words, stunned at her unyielding attempt to make him into a fool.

"Alva!" Harland said his daughters name with some exasperation now, stepping in line with the woman she had been speaking to. "You will stop this right now!"

Alva fixed her blue eyes on her father, "D'Artagnan is a friend. A relationship which I intend to honour. I do this for him and for the sake of my own dignity."

The fat man behind Alva laughed coldly, much to her irritation. "Very well Mademoiselle Harland. Do you wish to formally put yourself forward for the proposed journey to find Monsieur Alexandre and his son, D'Artagnan?"

Alva didn't speak.

"I need you to answer my question, _child_."

_I'm not a child._

Alva corrected mentally, her glare deepening as she turned towards him.

"yes, I do."

"Then you may go."

Alva grinned in triumph, before his next words made her expression dissolve into one of unspoken fright.

"However, it will be without the aid of anything but a horse, and three weapons of your choice."

Alva tried to act unphased, but her heart was pounding so loudly, she was sure everyone in the room could hear it. What had seemed like a simple task before, was suddenly starting to be born into reality, rather than tied up in one of Alva's romanticised ideas of heroism. "You must be kidd-"

"You have two weeks in which we will wait for you to return. If you do not, I will personally see that your father is stripped of his title, money and house."

"WHAT?" Lord Harland bellowed, his face turning a deep shade of reddish-purple in anger.

"That is near on impossible, Monsieur! Cannot I send word in these two weeks and return in my own time?" Alva asked, almost helpless to his demands now she had agreed to the task. "There will be no grounds for you to strip my father of his title! I fear the legality of it may fail to make your plan a reality."

"Are you willing to take that risk, Mademoiselle?" The council leader gave Alva a victorious smile. "I hold friends in_ incredibly _high places."

Harland stepped towards his daughter, a face like thunder and fists ready to knock her unconscious. "You cannot allow Alva to go, Monsieur Wolfe, she cannot do what is being asked in two weeks. I beg of you to forget her vulgarity and let us be on our way."

_Wolfe._

Alva thought, her eyes travelling the length of his body once.

_A fitting name for such a cruel, dictating character. Although, Monsieur Gros would suit his plump appearance far better._

"She has agreed to the terms, therefore she must carry out her word."

Harland was about to continue his protest when Alva cut him off.

"And that I will, Monsieur Wolfe." Her eyes met his one final time, narrowing into challenging slits as she turned on her heel and gracefully exited the room.

* * *

**A/N: **If you've already read this, my apologies, I'm reuploading it from a while ago, but the next chapter will be up very soon, I promise. Also, I want to say a big thank you to VirendraLione for inspiring me to continue with this story. :)


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